Turtles vs Zombies
by Connie Nervegas
Summary: Will the turtles survive the undead horde that has taken over the country? Chapter 5: It Comes in Waves by AsterSapphire.
1. A New Hope

_Everybody writes a zombie story and I want to write, but I'm too tired to think of anything original. So I'm going to write about Raph and Shannon in a zombie apocalypse. I want to write about Shannon too, but I'm too tired to figure out what to do with Hamato Overture right now either. I didn't go back and edit it very well. Or at all, really. AlexHamato is doing the chicken dance and shaking her fanny to Meatloaf right next to me, so I don't have the strength to think critically._

_I think I'm going to con some other fandom people to write chapters of this mess._

Raphael stuffed his coat pockets with candy bars from the store shelves. Food lay scattered on the blood smeared floor, the rotting carcasses of gas station patrons swarming with flies as a mangy dog tore at the flesh of what was once a man. He heard scuffling in the back and knew it was a group of humans. Ninja ears heard whispers and zombies didn't whisper, they moaned.

"I'm not dead. Try to shoot me and you will be, fuckers," he yelled as loud as he dared towards the closed door leading to the back room.

He pulled a roll of soap off a shelf and stuck it in the kangaroo pouch of his sweatshirt, since his pockets were full of candy. Usually, as soon a pocket of survivors realized that he was still a warm body, they would cautiously lay down their arms and try to make polite contact. He didn't need anybody else. As soon as he made it to the farmhouse, he'd have all the reinforcement he needed. These people would only slow him down and it was every man for himself.

The door knob to the back slowly turned and Raph crept outside, staying in the safety of the warm daylight, hidden from would-be companions and the undead horde. The sunny air smelled like death. The highway stretched into the horizon covered in silent cars with doors open and glass broken. Bodies and limbs lay scattered on the pavement in bloody specks, dotting the gray cement.

He got back into the tiny red car he'd borrowed and made a swift check for dead people in the backseat, then dumped his candy in the passenger seat and set off on the highway again towards the farmhouse. His cellphone had been silent for a while now. Every hour with no call from his family at the farm made the anxiety in his chest clamp a little more.

Now for the hard part. As the sky dimmed into shades of blue he skimmed the horizon for the most secure looking building. Thankfully in the last two days since he'd been on the move he'd found conveniently fortified warehouses and slept soundly while the undead moaned and scratched mindlessly at the brick walls, wanting his scent.

No more fighting. It wasn't important now. In the beginning he'd gone out at night with a kit of machetes and torn the fuckers to pieces. But every night it made less and less difference. Less people to save and more to hack apart. Then he got a call from Don at the farmhouse letting him know that while he'd been off on his latest tantrum, his family had been pinned down at the farmhouse, barricaded in the cellar. Raph chopped anything in his path between himself and the farmhouse.

* * *

He drove through an abandoned town. Looked upscale with some nice stores and a large new elementary school. A warning on a billboard showed the signs of the new sickness and to report immediately to your nearest quarantine center if exhibiting potential symptoms. A vaccine was in the works, but subjects were needed to incubate the virus and nobody seemed willing to be injected with zombie germs, even if it saved humanity.

The car chugged as the gas gauge suddenly dropped to empty and then stopped in the road. Groans echoed from the black tree line, a few deer hopped past over a downed power line with no electrical current. He pushed the little red car into a parking space and then scratched his head. Why? Were the zombie police going to pull up and arrest him for leaving the car blocking the driveway? Probably not. He wondered at how hard civilization dies. Raph pulled his duffle bag full of supplies from the trunk.

Most of the windows were smashed and he heard stumbling heavy footsteps in the grass on the other side of the highway. Only one storefront had bars on the windows and forced the front door open, the little bell over the door jingling welcomingly. He pulled a large metal clamp from the duffel bag and secured the door as best he could, then pushed the lobby desk in front of it for good measure. He surveyed the little pink room and saw a sign written in cheery letters that read "Miss Elsa's Dance Studio." Pictures of little girls in tutus and boys in white leotards smiled from the bulletin board, with a middle aged woman in a long skirt standing proudly behind them. He smelled rot coming from one of the closed classrooms and passed to the back of the building, looking for side doors. Fingernails scratched at the only door leading out of the dance studio and he pushed an old refrigerator that smelled like old food in front of it. The door slowly closed and opened against it.

His heart exploded with pumping blood as he heard music. Definitely a stringed instrument, played by a real person, and very close. Only one small classroom lay in the direction of the music. He pulled out a sai and gently pried the door open. A small figure with a violin in its hands cast on the back wall and he watched for a second, momentarily forgetting about the guttural noises outside the broken windows.

The person holding the violin stopped playing and his ears filled with the sound of wailing. All ages, men, women, the elderly, little children... all oblivious of each other and the world around them. Only aware of the smell of warm human blood. He knew they weren't attracted to him. The person with the violin instantly burst into tears and scurried to hide in a closet.

Zombies don't cry. Unless they're newly infected. Raph ducked inside and decided to tough it out with the current resident until morning and then leave them alone.

Leo would tell him to drop the person at the nearest safe shelter, but there didn't seem to be any left. Raph hadn't seen a safe shelter that wasn't full of zombies hiding from the sunlight or rotting corpses for a full three days.

The figure cringing in the corner sobbed quietly and Raph slowly approached. His instinct was to lock it in and ignore it, but that was probably not the honorable thing to do. "You still alive in there? I won't bite. Not even remotely human, so I don't want to eat you and they don't want to eat me. You can come out or stay in there, for all I care. Don't matter to me either way. I'm going to eat and you're welcome to eat too if you like. Or not. I don't care." He sat facing the closet and opened his duffel bag, pulling out a camp stove and some cans of Chunky soup and a bottle of whiskey. He wanted to drink badly. Just forget the world and laugh at the absurdity of America falling to pieces because they were too greedy to help each other out in the ultimate hour of need. But he needed his wits.

The closet door opened a few inches and a gray eye peaked through the crack. Definitely a girl and even by the small amount visible, he could tell she was young and possibly pretty. But maybe that was a teenage boy's hormones stirring into a monsoon at the faintest hint of estrogen that wasn't in a dead body, milling around with a mouthful of brains.

"You a good person?" she said, in a rather childlike tone.

"Not really, but I'm not going to eat you. Want some soup?" He popped the lid off a can and wafted the meaty smell in her direction.

The closet door opened a few more inches and he could see that she was at least an older teenager, if not a young woman. But she held a stuffed cat in her arms and wore a dirt and blood stained tutu, the violin clutched in her other hand. "All the girls who used to dance with me wanted to eat me so I hid in here. I'm awful hungry. I ate all our lunches. I felt bad about it, but they didn't want them anymore, I guess."

"Yeah, they probably ate Miss Elsa." He briefly looked her up and down for signs of bone density loss, stooped posture and bowed legs, bleeding from the orifices... No blood on her face or on her legs... Eyes seemed blood shot, but no red halo from internal bleeding... "Either come here and get some soup or sit down and shut up," he grunted, his face turning red from shame as he happily surveyed her thighs and lack of a bra under her tight leotard and he shamed himself. Not the proper place or time.

She put the violin down on a school desk as if it were made of glass and then clutched the stuffed cat with both arms as she sat cross-legged in front of him, shaking the whole time. Raph handed her a bowl of soup and she delicately slurped it down, hands shaking violently.

He pulled a bottle of water from his duffel back and sat in front of her, then rummage for a bottle of vitamins, opened the top and fished one out. "Open your paw." He dropped it in her shaking hand.

"Thank you," she said politely, as she swallowed it down.

"No more playing the violin either. You want to be real quiet."

She pouted her bottom lip. "But I don't want to hear them eating each other!"

"If you play, I'll break it." The groaning outside intensified. "Can anything get in here?"

She shook her head. "There aren't windows, even in the bathroom. The door has a real good lock on it, I guess, because they pounded on it and never got in. You seen my mom and dad out there? They said they would come and get me and take me home and they never came." She pulled out a pink cellphone. "I been waiting for them to call back..."

He sighed. "Look, I'm on the move here. So we're going to sleep and I'm going to leave you at the nearest safe place."

She clutched her stuffed cat and said, "No! My mom and dad are coming! They said so!"

Raph scratched his head and wondered if this was normal behavior for an adult or if there was something wrong with her. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen. Why are you green?" She drank the water bottle in one long gulp.

"I'm just naturally ugly." He took plastic off a sandwich and then jammed one in her cold hands. "Eat up."

She nibbled and said, "Do you sleep with them all running around outside? What if they get in? And I want to go help them because I know them..."

His heart sank and he said, "You recognize them?"

"Yeah, one was my neighbor and I thought I saw my mama, but I know she would never do those things. I must have been dreaming or something. She's going to come get me and take me home. You have a mama?"

He packed up the food and yanked out a tightly rolled sleeping bag, unzipped it and laid it out on the floor. "You get in there and sleep. You and your kitty need some sleep."

"Oh, you should! You look real tired." She went to the closet and pulled out a pink fluffly blanket. "I've been using this. We could make a bed and keep each other warm."

The idea of snuggling under a blanket with a cute girl was very appealing, but equally repulsive at the same time, in a very weird way. He should stay vigilant in case they broke in and mauled her. It didn't matter if they mauled him. He rubbed the old tooth marks on his arms and said, "Maybe we should."

"Okay!" She hummed and fussed with the bedding, making a little nest in the corner of the room. "We can stay warm then and I'll sing you to sleep!"

This girl will certainly die if he left her alone or even at a safe point. And it wasn't like he was in much danger of being infected. "Sure. You can sing if you like." Why was he being so nice to this girl? Something about a grown woman holding a stuffed animal and assuring him that her parents would come get her and save her broke his heart. Like a grown child left alone and defenseless. The idea of zombies pulling her to pieces didn't settle too well with him. Not that it was pleasant to watch anybody get eaten, but thinking of her hiding alone and clueless was pretty pathetic.

And it was nice to have a warm body around for a change. A sweet little voice to whisper in his ear as he fell asleep, instead of radio broadcasts in Chinese that he couldn't understand or howling of hungry zombies.

He climbed into the sleeping bag after turning on his UV lamp, attached to the small battery that he carried with him and aimed it at them. She slid in next to him and nuzzled against him, warm and smelling mildly of sweat.

"Good night. Where are we going then? I should send my mother a text and tell her that we'll meet her there." She smiled at him full of peaceful docility.

He berated his wits back to life, which had been meditating happily at the soft curve against his chest. "We're going to New Hampshire to my friends' farm. My family is there."

Wait a minute. He was dumping her as soon as possible. Not taking her to the farm. The farm wasn't a safe house.

Well why couldn't it be?! Weren't they sworn to protect humanity? And if they were the only thing left to protect the handful of survivors, then they would just have to get over their shyness and share their dinner with them. Maybe it would be the beginning of a new kind of acceptance for them. As he fell asleep he pictured the zombies beaten back by the Chinese who had finally finished their forced inoculation trials on their people and flown to America to save them. The refugees living in the cellar at the farm would come to know them as equals and thank them for rescuing them, eventually lauding them as saviors.

The girl in his sleeping back hummed a Katy Perry song as he fell asleep.


	2. The Walking Drama

_Alex Hamato speaking here - ConnieNervegas has successfully conned me into posting a response to her own story, "Turtles vs Zombies." I tried to go for more humorous here, but it turned into a drama. I don't know how that happened. I suppose comedy and drama tend to co-exist very well. Not so much with zombies and people, though. They don't get along quiet as well. But enough of that. I hope you guys take a read at her work, it will help you recover from suffering through my own. _

_I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Nickelodeon does._

* * *

If there was ever a time that the universe decided to cater to the whims and wishes of millions of American fanatics, this was that time. Instead of Avon salesmen and tax collectors, the streets are being swarmed by zombies. Both moan a lot and bite at the heels of their victims as they chase them, but a turtle can only kill one. And that would be zombies. Unless that turtle is Raph. Then they're both screwed.

But not as screwed as the zombies that Don was currently running over with the battle shell. The pimped UP battle shell. Reinforced armor and a giant iron grate on the front made it easy to squish zombies. His brother would whip the wheel so hard that Mikey felt his eyes bulge as they almost veered off the highway, just to take out a short guy with a Bill Cosby-style sweater.

Let's just call him Bill. Because Bill was apparently too bloated to simply roll under or over the battle shell. Bill had to EXPLODE on the windshield. The meaty thump and splatter made his stomach turn. Then buck. Mikey stumbled to the back of the van to lose his breakfast while Don turned on the windshield cleaner fluid and wipers.

The zombie apocalypse was so much more fun on his xbox.

"I'd give the zombies another month, at most, to completely decompose. I'm actually developing an engine that runs on liquified carbon matter. There will be massive quantities of it after the zombies all rot into black sludge."

"Don... Don't... don't say that..."

"Say what? Zombies? I am getting genuinely attached to the term. At first I thought it ridiculous, but you cannot dispute it's accuracy."

"Dude, they're like... _people_. Can you stop running over _people!_"

Of course his brother had no idea what he was talking about. His face scrunched up like he was trying put coordinates on a fourth dimensional plane and graph it. His brother scared him more often then not, especially after the zombie apocalypse. Don was still trying to clean off the brown and black smears that covered their windshield. The wipers kept on going back and forth, back and forth. Smearing shit, blood, and whatever else zombies were made out of.

"Don, it's not working! We have to pull over and clean that shit off. It's... I'm going to throw up."

"You already did."

Mikey screamed. "PULL OVER RIGHT _NOW_!"

He swore he just saw an eyeball fly past his window. He will never eat grapes again.

Donatello, the-friendly-neighborhood-psycho, finally pulled over and Mikey flew out of the van as soon as he slowed down enough to where he wouldn't break his legs. Finally free of the cramped iron tin that made him feel more like a sardine than a turtle, he took a deep breath of air and then proceeded to dry heave for a good three minutes. _Everything_ smells like dead people now.

"Wow, his femur is not only still intact, but it's embedded at least a _six inches_ into the grate. I would mail this into Mythbusters if they weren't all dead." Don tugged at the white chunk of bone sticking out the front of the battle shell like it was a massive splinter.

"How can you talk like – like that! 'Oh, they're just DEAD. That's all.'" He felt like screaming again. Or punching Don in the face. Both would feel pretty damn good right about now. Instead he checked his phone, which was vibrating again, and saw that April had called them for the tenth time that hour. He sent back a text to let her know that they're still alive and that he will not forget her cramp and bloating pills. Mikey made a note to pick up some tampons or those diaper bottom things that he found in her underwear drawer. Back when she had an apartment that didn't have dead people crawling everywhere.

Don finally yanked out the femur bone and continued the conversation like it was never left off. "I never knew them personally. If I become hysterical or depressed every time some dead person was infected by the zombie virus, I wouldn't be able to think rationally about our situation."

"This is a ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE! Why do you care about thinking _rationally_!" Mikey flapped his arms like him, like he was trying to scare away a flock of pigeons.

Don didn't fly off or squawk like they did, though. "I have splattered zombie remains to mop up. You can go in the ditch over there and vomit more if you need too."

He didn't want to give his brother that satisfaction. Not that Don would care whether or not he puked. He'd seen them all do every possibly body movement, which was definitely _not_ what he will tell the awesome new humans they'll probably meet. So Mikey wandered around since the sun was still high up and zombies tended to avoid sunlight. Don said something about them not having any natural defenses against UV rays since they're dead and can't make Vitamin D.

New Hampshire was way more spacious than the big city. It was almost easy to forget the moist, sweet stench of rotting people out in the open plains and woodlands. The grass was waist-high, yellow, and dry enough to crackle noisily as he stepped through it. His toes dug into the thin, flaky soil and he closed his eyes. Maybe Raph was back home already. He had some tantrum about something and left. That was a long time ago, it seemed. It made him sad that he didn't remember what he was upset about, but he was sure Raph could survive hordes of zombies. As far as he could tell, since all of them have been bitten at least once, mutants didn't become zombiefied.

Ninja or not, Mikey could hear the crunching of his brother's steps as he waded through the grass behind him. He hoped that he didn't have to suffer through another conversation about his brother's theories on the effects of bottlenecking the gene pool of humanity.

"The van is all cleaned up. Did you eat an entire package of gummy bears before we left?"

"I didn't want Leo's eggs. He adds way too much water. Fluffy eggs are way different from sloppy eggs," Mikey sniffed his brother and made a grossed-out face. "You cleaned with vinegar."

"And baking soda. I actually found a zombie appendix that I may be able to sneak past Splinter. It would be great if I could get more data on the structure of the virus. I already sent some of my notes to the ambassador of China." His brother scratched his chin like Sherlock Holmes and asked, "Do you think that America would have survived if we forced subjects to be tested on, to find a cure? It would have definitely worked out more quickly. Democracy takes too long to decide on anything."

"If they did that, then this wouldn't be America. It'd be a big piece of land where assholes experiment on each other." He shoved past his brother with a scowl and stomped back to the battle shell. "But you wouldn't care about that stuff. You don't seem to care that humanity is like, _wiped out_. So whatever."

"Why should I care?" The sharp edge to the question made Mike stop and turn around. His brother continued with, "They never even knew we existed. What happens to humanity has no concern to us."

"To _you_, maybe. I happen to actually care about other people!"

Don shrugged, so Mikey pushed him straight in the chest. Then he yelled, "Stop talking like this is all normal, _Don_! Because it's not! You can't just rationalize dead people walking everywhere!"

"They are not people," he said curtly, "That is just the result of a viral infection that has taken over the frayed nerves of those bodies. Stop looking at what you see, and actually see what you're looking at!"

"I know that they're not _people_. It's just that," Mikey slid a sweaty palm down his face, "They _used_ to be. That doesn't bother you? At all?"

"No." His face was impassive. It was always so hard to get a read on what his brother was thinking. "I don't understand why it bothers any of you. Humans are unable to accept any differences or appearance with each other. They would never have accepted us. I felt no need to become attached to them."

"Dude, April and Casey - "

"I said humans," Don interrupted, "As in, the race. There will always be a select few who do not share the same perspectives and views of their peers. Which is why I favor keeping them alive. The rest of humanity - I could go with or without. It makes no difference to me."

Then he broke Don's nose. His brother didn't even seem to be bothered, simply shrugging off the blow and snorting out some blood. So Mikey hit him again. And again. And soon they were wrestling around the tall grass, scaring field mice and prairie chickens. When they were done, they were sprawled on their backs with limbs folded with one another like a couple of pretzels. Don was huffing to catch his breath when he mumbled through a swollen tongue, "Let's call a truce. I will hack up the zombies while you hug them and explain the concept of diplomacy and co-existence."

Mikey was too tired to properly punch him again, so he dug his finger into his brother's ear until he yelped in pain. "Shut up. I beat you up, so now you have to agree with me."

His brother snorted, blood spraying his front and the side of Mikey's face. "Learn how to debate with Raph, did we? Because clearly, violence is the solution to any and all issues."

"No, just this one." Mikey struggled to sit up, wincing at the throbbing in his head and both shins. "Why does everybody always go after my legs?"

"Because you hop around like a rabbit. That is why Leo always get on you about keeping your base low when you fight." His brother spat out a tooth and picked it up, to tuck into a pocked sewn into the inside of his belt. "I wish I could be stupid instead of rational, sometimes."

"I'd say you were pretty stupid," Mikey mumbled.

His brother didn't respond. It couldn't be that hard to show some sympathy to all the zombies that they had to butcher through on their escape from the city. Raph is still out there, too. He would probably agree with Don. They're both idiots. But Don looked like his entire neighborhood on Sims got wiped out because some faulty patch, so Mikey figured that he'd forgive him. Because unlike his brothers, he's awesome like that.

"How about I drive this time?"

Don grinned at him, a front tooth missing. "Ten points if you roll over a zombie, fifty if they fly over the hood, and a hundred if it explodes."

At least this time he has an empty stomach.


	3. Bloodshed

_So we're trying to go round robin with these little zombie chapters, but somehow I ended up with Leo and April in the same cycle. _

_This is Connie Nervegas, by the way. We'll post in the author's notes who wrote the chapter and I'll start changing the summary every time too._

_You get bonus points if you can identify the obscure cultural reference buried in this story. If you win I'll tell everyone in the next author's notes that you got bonus points. _

April switched on the CB radio and listened for a signal through the static. "Hello? Is anybody out there? Anybody still alive anyway?"

Static.

She wiped the sweat off her forehead with a dried up dishcloth and wondered if it she should try calling Raph's cell again. Usually he answered right away with a grunt. The last time she checked in with Don and Mikey in the Battleshell she'd heard Thriller playing loudly while Don howled along off-key and Mikey protested about senstivity to the loss of mankind.

"Do we have any fabric softener?" Leo asked as he carried an armful of her laundry to the basement stairs as if he were the maid.

She turned the knob on the CB radio and said to him over her shoulder, "We don't have a washing machine so it doesn't matter if there's any fabric softener. My stinky clothes can wait. Or you can break into the laundromat if you're that desperate to keep me from smelling bad."

He dropped them on the floor in a neat pile, picking up a stray sock and placing it on top of the pile like a cherry on top of a sundae. "It's not that you smell bad. Well, you do... But I mean, it might be safer for you if you smelled more like soap and less like normal human bodily fluids. Especially, this time of the month..."

She slowly turned around with one hand on her hip, her lower back aching from the dramatic gesture. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, toned arms hanging limply at his sides. "Don't you think your blood might attract them?"

"They're not sharks! Any human smells will attract them!" She turned around and poked the CB knob. "You know what's worse than having your period with no pads or tampons or washing machine for your bloody laundry when you're trapped with a bunch of clueless men in 90 plus degree heat and humanity is dying out due to a zombie apocalypse?"

Leo sat next to her, hands folded on his knee politely. "No. What?"

"Nothing!" she yelled as she tossed the dishrag across the room. She nearly burst into tears and then pictured all the people suffering and slowly dying all over the world, only be to reanimated as a corpse to haunt the living and decided to suck it up. A lack of tampons wasn't the worst problem in the world. "Any my legs are as hairy as a bear and it's so hot and my pants are all itchy and getting caught in my jeans!" She thought maybe that little issue would tip the scales to weigh as heavily as the loss of all mankind.

He put a hand awkwardly on her shoulder and gave it a pat. "You know, we should go raid a Wal-Mart or something or a house down the road when they get back with the Battleshell so that we can find you some nice things. You are our only female and we need to take good care of you!"

April smiled slightly at his wide-eyed partiality to her as their only surviving female in the area. "Yeah, well. I have a job to do. And I guess you could tell Don and Mikey to go take a washer and dryer from Sears on the way so that Don could have fun installing it and maybe it'll distract him from talking about rebuilding all of mankind for about two minutes."

"Holy shit, yes!" Leo exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "If I have to hear about breeding you with Casey and any other surviving men again I might strangle him. But then we'd be down one person for patrol, I suppose," he muttered. Then his face turned grave. "I shouldn't joke about death like that. It isn't necessary. Maybe I should punish him with katas every time I hear him doing it."

She turned off the CB radio and stiffly got out of the desk chair, joints cracking as she limped upright. "Don't worry. Sooner or later, Sensei will hearing him doing it and then he'll get it. He can't keep up the happy perky act all the time. And it's just a coping mechanism anyway. You know he's not thrilled about the extinction of mankind."

"Uh, huh," he mumbled as he looked out the window distractedly. "Raph would be here joining in, you know. 'Fuck humanity! What did they ever do for us?!' And then he's growl or something."

They both stood at the window looking out into the golden sunshine. It looked like any other late summer day. The earth didn't care what happened to them. It was reassuring that the earth didn't need them to survive. "You know he's okay. If anybody can survive traveling through a zombie apocalypse, it's Raph. He's probably cruising around on his motorcycle, flipping them off as he goes past."

Leo sighed sentimentally at the idea, rather than smiling or laughing. "Yeah, he's a beast, like that. But he's our beast. I wonder if he visited Johnny No Thumbs' shelter before he left. Probably forgot."

"Why don't we try to ring him up on the CB then?" April suggested, hoping to give Leo something to do. He didn't do well sitting at home, doing the housework with the woman of the family. He never complained, but he sighed a lot, which was worse.

He sat down and tuned the knob immediately. "Johnny No Thumbs? Hello? Do you read me? This is Leonardo of the Hamato Clan."

They both listened to the static and heard April listened to another random voice interfering that didn't make sense. Sometimes they picked up things that didn't make sense. Old signals dating from years before that nobody had bothered to take down or were now stuck playing until the facility lost power and the message ended. This time it was a French woman babbling French nonsense, followed by a mechanical voice spouting off numbers.

Then she heard a familiar oily voice say, "That you, Green Thing? Or is this Butch? Aren't you all green though? Yeah, this is Johnny. I just Bald Tony out looking for some toilet paper. All we have is one ply and it drive my wife up the wall. I can stand frying zombies with a flame thrower, but I can't take my wife bitching about the lousy toilet paper I got during the rush on the stores when things were getting bad."

"Tell her to use a leaf," Leo grumbled.

April slapped his arm. "I'm sorry. He's usually really polite."

"Billions of people are dead and all Mrs. No Thumbs cares about is cushy toilet paper?"

Johnny laughed as if he'd just heard a great joke. "Anyway though. How are things out on the farm? Butch there yet? He cleaned out most of my good stuff. I generously let him take the portable generator and some of the rations when he threatened to kill me."

Leo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. "You just let Raph stroll off with your best stuff? Didn't Bald Tony or Sue or Ho'opono? Where were they?"

There was a short pause and April assumed he was stuttering or coming up with an excuse. "Well, Sue was on a raid. He was pinned down by these goons on Fifth Avenue. They're holed up in Bergdorf Goodman around the Givenchy section. They're using the skinny mannequins as decoys at night. They put them outside and..."

April interrupted, "Well, if there are a ton of dangerous people out there, then move out to the country. Send Sue to get some supplies and head out this way or something."

"...Oh, yeah. Will do! Have fun picking corn out there. Say hello to Butch when he gets there," Johnny said as he logged off the CB Radio.

April and Leo gossiped about Johnny's thugs and Leo reckoned that he needed to replace them all if they let Raph walk in during a tantrum and steal their best supplies. April reminded him that most people are afraid of Raph. "You probably aren't since you've bathed with him since infancy."

She twiddled the dial, thinking she would stop for a while and read a book. Mostly they were old farmer's almanacs from the 1950's. But they were still full of amusing things.

She caught a faint blip on the radio. "Is anybody..." It sounded female.

Leo sat straight up in his chair, all four legs thudding to the floor. She said as clearly as possible through the statis, "Yes, we're here. Tell us where you are. We can send someone to find you."

The voice on the other line garbled out an address. Leo wrote it on the kitchen table's wooden surface in permanent marker in his haste to record the whereabouts of the new survivor and April scowled at him. She said, "We'll send our people to find you. Don't worry."

She turned off the machine just as the voice started again. She hoped it wasn't important information lost in the static.


	4. Not on the Menu

_Heyo, this is MD Owen with my part of this round-robin challenge. I was asked to write Casey, Splinter, and include my original character, Emyrs Becker, as a cameo. She won't stay too long, and she brings a lot of fun into a story. My apologies for taking so long. Enjoy!_

A blood-smeared, chewed hockey stick glinted in the moonlight and a desparate man's cry screeched into the night. A few of the letters on the building were gone, reading 'ootrs' and an owl's eyeless body along with a giant food truck parked through the building's lobby. Casey Jones found the disaster a good reason to leave the safety of Raph's warm motorcycle he was driving and make the truck his soapbox and possibly, his last stand against the Undead.

"You grizzly assholes killed my best friend! The best family I've ever known," he felt the night wind aggravate his sore throat every time he opened his mouth, "and whoever your leader guy is has a one way ticket to Cape Jones, first class, all expenses and ass-whoopings paid. GONGALA!" His battle cry warbled and snapped near its end. The rest of his whoops and grunts mimicked an injured baby goat.

The numbers of the Undead spilling out of the desecrated building rose from one, two, shambling over the rocks and debris, to over a dozen, with eyes, teeth, and skin missing from the right places. Most were former female employees of the establishment still in their skin-tight uniforms of white tank tops and skimpy orange shorts; the other drones were men in flannel shirts and faded college apparel. Casey created as much noise as possible by banging his hockey stick and baseball bat against the hood of the truck. The corpses' moans terrified him on the inside, but his determination to end the madness overrode his sanity.

"How in the hell did you survive this long?" an accented female voice blasted from the ground. Casey snapped his head to the driver's side and saw a pair of glaring hazel eyes and a familiar mutant-like cream-colored face sneering at him. Her silver beanie bounced from the frustration as a string of German phrases tossed from her mouth. He had no idea what she just called him.

"Um, hello. I, uh-" he chuckled hoarsely. "Sorry, I'm avenging my dead friend here."

"Avenge him somewhere else, please!" She heard the moans closer behind her than she believed. "Oh, sheet!" The mutant girl's hardy military boots thumped over the rocks; she moved with surprising grace once she got passed the truck and headed straight for Casey's motorcycle. It prompted him to end his crusade and go rescue his damn vehicle.

"That's mine! Keep your hands off it!" He hit the hood of the food truck two times before losing his footing and landed with a gross thud on the ground. He cursed everything in existence, but the Undead reached the back tires, and, broken ribs or not, Casey needed to ditch the brilliant plan. "Get off my bike! Or Raph's bike. He won't like it that you touched it!"

The mutant girl reached the motorcycle and noticed another person on the carrier's side. "Hello, I'm Emyrs Becker, and your friend is crazy and will be dead soon. We'll all be dead but I'm not planning to be tonight." She didn't understand the person's mumbled words under the helmet. "I didn't get that. One question: can you shoot a gun?"

The person removed his helmet, and she smiled when she saw another mutant, a rat. He began to speak, but Casey swung the bat at the Bike Thief. "Splinter! I got your back, bud!" She yelped and squeezed behind Splinter. "Get off him, tramp!"

Enraged and squeak-grunting, Casey tore off her beanie and shoved her to the ground. As she rolled in the dirt, Casey used more muscle power to push her out of the way like a stubborn dog. "I can't take you, I'm sorry! Go back to the truck!"

"Do you see the truck? Oh wait- it's covered with zombies that YOU brought out of the bloody building!" She rose to her feet and held up her fists. "I know you're stronger than me, but I'm not dying by the hands of those things. Or their teeth. Who is that rat on the bike?"

Casey pointed at her dramatically. "Who are you? I'll ask the questions."

"Emyrs Becker," Splinter's voice rose over the motorcycle's engine. "And she's coming with us."

"You don't know her, Master. She could be behind this whole mess."

Emyrs wiggled her finger towards the on-coming horde of zombies. "If I was the zombie queen, couldn't I just ask them to stop?"

Casey snapped, "Maybe, why don't you-"

She turned to them, "Hey, uglies! Stop that! You're needed on the Thriller set in 2 hours and you still need to eat dinner. Eat him, eat HIM!" Her pudgy fingers stabbed through the air in Casey's direction.

Casey refused to lose, even with a shattered voice. "Eat her! Eat her!" While they both shouted like children, Splinter revved up with motorcycle and spun the wheels. Flabbergasted by the twist, Casey gawked at Splinter and almost got attacked as the horde was upon them. Three gunshots to three heads gave Casey enough time to jump in the passenger's seat of the motorcycle. Splinter quickly motioned for Emyrs to hop on, and she took down a few more zombies before her chamber emptied and her happy ass planted behind Splinter. The engine revved and stalled momentarily, but with Casey's swift hand motion pointing to Splinter's feet, their cavalry stormed off down the road, their taillights flickering in the darkness and leaving the zombies alone and hungry.


	5. It Comes in Waves

_(A/N) Aster Sapphire here, heh. Don't mind me, just blowing some dust off this here fanfic account of mine. Heh. Heh. So anyways, onward with the next installment of Turtles vs. Zombies. Special thanks to Connie Nervegas, Alex Hamato and M.D Owen for the support with this. _

It seemed that the city of Manhattan was starting to follow a pattern. The atmosphere was only this quiet and still when something awful had happened, or was currently happening. In this case, it was the latter. It was rather bizarre; walking these streets and hearing nothing but the sound of your own lonely footsteps. Manhattan and quiet just didn't mix. Silence was something the city rarely welcomed, and when it did, it never stayed for this long. For once the cars didn't make a sound. No loud, obnoxious honking. No drivers shaking their fists out the window while yelling uselessly at the traffic ahead of them.

Nothing.

Buildings with shattered windows and broken in doors stretched hundreds of feet into the air, trying to touch a cloudless, gray sky. Everything was still. There wasn't even any wind. It was as if the world had come to a silent halt to mourn the passing of the once lively city.

The cold, dry air was heavy the scent of blood. Cold, spoiled blood belonging to the creatures that now roamed the city. The epidemic had appeared rather abruptly and spread very quickly. The smell made his made his stomach howl for a meal. But of course nothing around him was an option. Any of the walking corpses that came his way were all too spoiled and rotten for him to feed on. The stores were not an option either since the humans had cleaned them out for provisions before fleeing the city.

He had not had a full meal for weeks and was starting to feel the effects. He felt his body growing weaker with each passing minute when he did not feed. Even animals were hard to come across. For the past week, he had been living off of whatever squirrels he was fortunate enough to catch. The infected were not an option. While he had discovered that was immune to the epidemic, he was not immune to the consequences that came with eating rotted flesh. Or going hungry.

He continued on, searching for a food source, but then stopped. Instantly he felt his mouth water as all of his senses heightened.

He smelled blood again.

It was much fresher than anything he had smelled earlier. Even fresher than the blood from the car. Couldn't have been more than a few minutes old…

He began to go through the motions again. His stomach growling, his mouth watering, his other sense fading as the scent of the blood became all he could sense. His vision became blurry but still, he took off towards the smell. Pushing through cars and empty strollers. He rampaged through the streets on all fours until he came to a stop. Slowly, he other senses came back to him. He now found himself standing at the entrance of a boat house in Central Park. He felt a warm, wet substance under his feet. He didn't need to look down to know of the blood spilling under the door. He ripped the door off its hinges with no hesitation and pounced through the door. His eyes scanned the room for the prey. The boat house was lit by a single light bulb that dangled in the middle of the shed. Paddle boats and canoes were aligned along either of the walls, and stacked on shelves. Thick coats of dust covered just about everything.

His ears picking up on a sudden sharp intake of breath and small footsteps approaching him. A growl formed in his throat as he crouched down and waited, the scent getting stronger as the meal approached. The only thing standing between him and a meal now was a few steps.

His prey was just a few feet away from him when it spoke in a small, faint voice that even his ears were barely able to pick up on. "Hello? Who's there?" Moments later a child, who could not have been more than 10 years old, stepped into the light. He was still hidden in the shadows, just a few feet away from her. She bled from a fresh cut on her arm, dripping on to the floor. She kept a hand over it to stop the bleeding, but it only seeped through her fingers and onto a puddle on the floor.

The girl stood there, frightened and waiting for an answer. In her hands, was long thin rod; a leather strap attached to it that was secured tightly around her wrist to keep her from losing it. Milky white orbs started in his direction.

She was blind.

She would be any easy kill. Young and alone. She was practically being served to him on a silver platter. One swipe is all it would take. One swipe and she would be open, her insides everywhere. He would have a full meal. Enough to last him for days, perhaps. His hunger would be gone and all it was take was one swipe.

But he couldn't do it. His mind told him that this was not right. That she was only a little girl. But his stomach said she was food.

"I know you're still there I can hear you breathing and trying to pretend you left," She took another step forward. "I just need some help, see?" She extended her arm towards him.

He jerked away from her, stumbling backwards towards the entrance. "Stay _away _from me!" He growled, leaving the shed. He felt suffocated. All he could smell was the meal he would not let himself feast on. He fled from the shed and back out into the open, collapsing to his knees and breathing heavily.

He finally took the time to take in his surroundings. He had fled to the middle of alley. A completely empty alley if you exclude the trash that was strewn about. He did not know how long he had ran or how far away he was from her now. But he could still smell her, still smell her blood. It took all his strength to keep from going back. Or at least from going back in his current state. He would return, but when he did he would not bring the monster with him.

He knew he could leave her alone in the shed. The chances of any other humans coming across her were slim and the chances of her lasting much longer much longer on her own were even slimmer. And his chances with her? Probably not much better. But still, he would have to at least try. His friends would have been able to help this girl. So he would do the same, or at least try too.

But first, he had to feed.

He sniffed the air again and smelled blood. Blood that was not as spoiled as the rest. At the end of the alley he heard gurgling and footsteps being dragged against the pavement. One the creatures staggered by slowly. Dead, unfocused eyes trained ahead of him. He had not been dead very long His blood was still a little fresh.

It was not the warm, live prey he had hoped to find, but it was something. It would fill his stomach and he would be able to focus on helping the girl instead of eating her. He locked his eyes on the creature as it hobbled by. A chunk of flesh missing from its neck.

His eyes narrowed into slits. His stomach said prey, and his mind agreed.

She knew he had returned before he even said anything. The heavy footsteps that shook the entire boathouse could not be that easily forgotten. She hoped he had only run off the earlier to and get something for her arm. She didn't need to be a doctor, or even be able to see the injury to know it was getting worse.

He stopped just a few feet away from her. He was breathing was really shaky as if he was nervous. He cleared his throat and exhales loudly before speaking in a deep, gruff voice. "You spoke of having an injury?"

Despite the gruffness his voice was still rather small when he spoke, as if her were afraid of her. She wanted to ask him why he had run off earlier. Or who he _was _for that matter. But she only extended her arm to him, with a hiss of pain. "I got glass in it and the breathing won't stop. Can you fix it?"

He swallowed thickly and his breathing got all shaky again. But only for a few seconds this time.

"I am no doctor, but I know enough about your anatomy to aid you," He replied.

She nodded. There was a brief silent pause and then began to dig through a bunch of the items on the shelves. A few moments later he tore off fabric and came a bit closer to her. He didn't warn her before swiftly removing the glass from the cut and then wrapping the torn cloth around it. He tied it off and squeezed it a bit.

The girl wrinkled her nose and huffed. Had it really been that easy? She would have been able to do it herself if she had just fumbled around a bit more. But that hadn't been an option because of the stupid glass in her arm. She flex her arm a little, it was numb and stuff from her not being able to move it for so long. The pain faded quickly and she smiled to herself. "Thank you, sir. I'm Liberty. What's your name?"

"I am called Leatherhead," He replied simply.

"That's a weird name," She replied with a shrug. "Are you all by yourself too, Leatherhead?" She walked over to a bare table that was low enough of to hoist her herself up onto.

Leatherhead followed her, stopping a couple inches away and leaning on the wall. "Yes…I am. It is best that way,"

"But not anymore right? Because you're with me now and we have to stick together," She inched a little closer to him and stretched a hand out to touch him. Her finger tips briefly brushed against rough, scaly skin before he moved away from her suddenly. The girl frowned. "Why won't you let me see you? I need to know what my new friend looks like."

Leatherhead huffed and didn't move closer to her. "You're not going to leave again are you?"

Her friend sighed. "No I… I am not like you. I am not human, like you are. I am…different. Please, do not touch me."

"Well everybody's different. So I don't care that you're not like me," She held up the bandaged arm and smiled at him. "And you helped me fix my arm. So I really, really shouldn't care what you look like." She leaned back against the wall and stared kicking her legs freely. Her friend had gone silent again. She didn't like that. The boathouse had been much too quiet for her and she didn't like too much quiet.

"Where were you going?"

"I am going to meet with my friends… hopefully," Her friend sounded sad. So it made her sad. It reminded her of how she wasn't able to find her own friends. Or her mommy and daddy. She wanted to hold his hand, but she didn't want to make him try to leave again. She folded her hands in her lap instead and they held each other.

"Where are your friends? I don't know where mine are. Or my mommy and daddy,"

"They are far away from here, on the country side," he replied. "How long have you been all alone?"

"Not very long. Only about a day, I think. But I don't want to stay by myself anymore. I don't like it here. Can I go with you?"

It got quiet as her friend started to think. Quiet enough for her to hear some of the monsters outside. They scratched at the walls and moaned. They came the other night to try and get her but they didn't get in. She hoped the same thing would happen tonight. She knew her new friend didn't like for her to touch him, but she scooted closer to him anyways, feeling around for his arm. Her fingers brushed against the leather-like skin again, clinging to him tightly.

He didn't move away this time, and she felt a little less scared. It had not been the comfort she been hoping for, she had been hoping that she this would be her mother or her father she was clinging to. But instead it was her new friend; but still, it was enough for her.

He sighed and got quiet again before he said, "Yes… you may come with me. But just know that I am not very accustomed to humans." He sighed as he pulled his arm out of her grasp gently, but still stayed close to her. "It is alright, none of them will hurt you,"

"I know that." She turned to grin at him. "They have to hurt you first. But that's not going to happen because you're really big. So we'll both be okay." She pulled her legs up on to the desk, curling up on the table.

"Who are your friends?" she asked with a yawn.

"Well… they are more like family, actually. I met them when I was going through a - a rather difficult time. They have been supportive regardless of my… mental condition." He sighed as he leans against the wall a little more. [[I didn't realize until now, but whenever you give a VISUAL of Leatherhead you have to be careful, because she can't see so you have to rely on her earing, smell, and other senses.]] "There a five of them. Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo and their father is Splinter. They are a family… a very kind and strong family,"

Liberty nodded as she listened to him. She wanted him to keep talking. The more he talked, the harder it was to hear the monsters outside.

"Splinter is the father of the other four I mentioned. He is strict with sons, but it is all for good reasons. He and his sons are like me, they are… different. So he does what he must to protect them. He is a man of patience and wisdom; a good father to his sons,"

Liberty's eyelids began to grow heavy. Hearing him speak of friends, was like being back home and having mama read bedtime stories to her.

"I have a good daddy too. I bet you'll really like him when we find him. He has a jazz band and he lets me play the piano with them sometimes. I wanna make music like him when we grow up. We'll have own band. You can be in it too!"

"I...I don't think we're going to-

"You don't think we're going to what, Leatherhead?" She asked sitting up a little. Surely he wasn't saying that they wouldn't find her daddy. It was silent as she waited for another answer.

There was another sigh. "Nothing,"

She nodded and laid back down on the table. "What are your other friends like? You said there five but you've only told me about one."

"Well, as I said, they are very strong family. In a way…the all complete each other."

"How?"

"Like Leonardo for instance he is his clan's leader. He is very much like his father. Strict with his brothers but also, very wise and very noble. He is compassionate and the safety of his family is a top priority. However…at times he will need support from his brother Raphael, to remind him of his place.

She yawned again and rolled onto her back, twisting one of her small braids around her finger. "And what's Raphael like?"

"I find myself being able to relate to him a lot...I am able to understand his struggle to control his emotions. But those closest to him know that he has a good heart,"

"You have to more," She said, holding up two fingers just to make sure he got the message.

She heard him make a sound that she could have sworn was a laugh. She wasn't able to tell. "There is also Donatello. He is very intelligent and...well that is the only way I can think to describe him. He is rather difficult to sum up in a word. Or many words for that matter. You would have to meet himself yourself to understand."

She yawned as she began to drift off, curling up again on the table. "And the last one? Michelangelo?"

"Michelangelo…well…he…

"Is he hard to describe too?"

"No…not hard to describe. Just hard to talk about." He got all quiet again. She waited for him to continue but instead he just sighed again. "It would be best if you go to sleep now. We should be leaving in the morning. The creatures do not travel by daylight and the earlier we leave the further we can make it before dark. And if we are to leave early…we must rest."

"Oh…okay then. You'll stay here if I go to sleep right? You won't leave again?"

There was a long pause. "I promise you…I will stay by your side and do my best to protect you. Now go to asleep,"

After the assurance from him, she finally allowed her heavy eyelids to close. As she drifted off, a few layers of large cloth were draped over her and another folded stack of it slid a folded mound of the cloth beneath her to use as a pillow. Just as he was setting her head back down, she quickly pecked him on the hand and then giggled to herself a little as she snuggled under her makeshift covers. "Goodnight, Leatherhead." She said innocently.

The reply was delayed, but when it came; she could practically hear the smile in his voice. "Goodnight, Liberty."


End file.
